Chapter 3

~ FIVE YEARS LATER ~

Five years have passed, and I still wake up some nights gasping for air, reaching for a bond that no longer exists. Time was supposed to heal me, but all it did was teach me how to live with the emptiness. The scars have faded, but the ache never did.

So I keep myself busy by fixing bikes, replacing parts, and pretending I don’t feel the ache that comes with remembering my past.

The afternoon heat presses down on me, and sweat slips down the side of my face. I wipe it away with the back of my arm and slide back under the old truck sitting in my shop. The smell of oil and metal clings to my skin, familiar and grounding. My wrench scrapes against a rusted bolt as I twist it hard, muttering under my breath when it refuses to move.

“Come on,” I whisper, gritting my teeth as the stubborn piece finally gives with a sharp clang. A drop of oil splatters my cheek, and I sigh, pushing a strand of hair out of my face with a greasy hand.

The world outside hums softly, the buzz of cicadas, the occasional car passing on the lonely road, until a deep, low growl cuts through the air.

Thunderous roar of engines approaching. Not one, but several. The ground vibrates faintly beneath me as the sound grows louder, rolling closer until it stops right outside my shop.

I slide out from under the car, wiping my hands on a rag as five bikes roll into the yard, chrome flashing under the afternoon sun.

My breath catches the moment I see the patches on their leather vests, black and crimson, a clawed wolf’s paw tearing through metal.

Iron Claws.

The name alone makes my blood run cold. I haven’t seen that patch in years.

Engines idle for a moment, then one by one, they go quiet. The smell of exhaust and dust fills the air as the riders swing off their bikes.

My chest clenches, the wrench slipping from my hand and clattering onto the concrete. And before I can even move, the one in front reaches up and removes his helmet. He doesn’t look away; for a heartbeat, his gaze holds mine, slow and calculating, then his thumb drags across the bike grip like he’s steadying himself, not the metal.

For a second, I forget how to breathe. The world around me seems to blur, and all I see is him.

Something drops in my gut painfully. Time has carved sharpness into his jawline, added roughness to the boy who used to be nothing more than a smug, teasing bastard in leather jackets. His eyes stayed on mine, those same stormy grey eyes I remember from college, and my stomach twists.

Calix. Draven’s stepbrother.

Calix takes a step forward, that same damn smirk stretching across his face like the years never changed him. “What’s up, Rhi-Rhi,” he says, his voice deeper now, rough around the edges but still carrying that lazy arrogance that used to make me want to punch him.

A hot ache spreads beneath my ribs. Of all people to walk into my shop, it had to be him.

Behind him, the other four bikers exchange quick looks, surprise flashing across their faces. One of them, the tallest with a scar along his brow, frowns slightly. “Alpha, you know her?” he asks, glancing between us.

Calix doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Yeah,” he says, voice calm but with a hint of something I can’t name. “Very well.”

The others stay quiet after that, leaning against their bikes, watching us closely. I can feel their curiosity prickling in the air, the way they’re studying me, the way they’re waiting to see what this is about. Their scents fill the shop. My wolf shifts uneasily under my skin.

Calix looks around, taking in the grease-stained walls and the half-open toolbox like he’s inspecting a crime scene. “It’s been a long time.”

I cross my arms, trying to steady my breathing. “What are you doing here?”

He raises a brow, smirk deepening. “C’mon, Rhi-Rhi, we haven’t seen each other in what…. ten years? And that’s how you say hello to your friend?”

“Don’t call me that,” I snap.

“What? Rhi-Rhi?” He drags the nickname out on purpose, rolling it off his tongue like he’s tasting it.

I roll my eyes, muttering under my breath, “Still a bastard.” Then louder, “Please leave. I’m working.”

A couple of the bikers smirk quietly to themselves but don’t say a word.

Calix chuckles, that low, infuriating sound that always used to follow his smartass comments back in college. “Never thought I’d see the day you’d be under a car, grease on your hands. Rhiannon, a mechanic? Life really did a number on you, huh?”

I glare at him, jaw tight. “Get out.”

He ignores me completely, strolling toward one of the bikes like he owns the place. “You did this to yourself, though. Cheating on that asshole you called your mate.”

The words hit like a knife. My pulse spikes, and my wolf claws at my insides. “I didn’t cheat on my mate, you piece of shit!” The words tear out of me before I can stop them. “Don’t speak like you know anything about what happened!”

The shop goes dead quiet. Even his crew stops moving, eyes flicking between us, unsure whether to step back or stay put.

Calix stops mid-step, then turns toward me slowly, that same damn grin on his lips, the one that says he knows exactly how to piss me off.

“Relax, sweetheart. It’s a joke,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Though, if I remember right, you were always a little too defensive when it came to him. You don’t have it in you to cheat. You loved that bastard too much.”

I blink, the fire in my chest stumbling for a second. I didn’t expect him to say that.

He shrugs lightly, still watching me. The others stay silent, no laughter this time, no mocking smiles, just quiet stares as if they’re seeing a different side of their Alpha.

I glare so hard my eyes sting. “You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says, smirking faintly before running a hand through his hair. “But at least I’m honest.”

My fists clench. I swear, if he doesn’t get out of my shop in the next five seconds, I might actually throw a wrench at his smug face.